


You're the Spring, You're the Summer

by Thegreatsnotdragon



Series: The Epic Untitled Love Story [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, But No Actual Suicide, But VERY ROMANTIC, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Just So We're Clear, Just had to say it one more time, Long term relationships are romantic godammit!, M/M, Past Character Death, Self-Hatred, Shattered self-image, So many man tears, This is actually really romantic I promise, discussions of suicide/suicidal thoughts, intimacy issues, long term effects of childhood abuse and neglect, relationship drama, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 16:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16021592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thegreatsnotdragon/pseuds/Thegreatsnotdragon
Summary: Following the death of his father, Dean spirals into a deep depression. A depression that shakes his marriage and his family to the chore.(This can be read as a standalone, and also I swear it's not as wholly depressing as it sounds.)EDIT: Someone went off on me in the comments because they clicked on a story about depression and turns out it WAS actually about depression, so be warned; this story is very dark, and very real, particularly the first half, and yes, it's also romantic but that doesn't detract from the heaviness. Be safe (and read the tags for fuck's sake).





	You're the Spring, You're the Summer

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, WARNING! most of the possible triggers can be found in the tags, but there's a few other minor things that I'll put in the end notes in an effort not to spoil the entire story for everyone.  
> Another thing I wanna mention is that their son, Noah, is biracial (half black), I'm black and I really didn't want to write a completely white family, so there you go. Cas is his biological father, while Dean is Haley's, they were both conceived via surrogacy. They live somewhere in California, I haven't nailed down an exact spot, so use your imagination. Oh and also they have a hypoallergenic cat named Bowie.  
> Fair warning, parts of this (specifically towards the beginning) were very hard to write, so they may be hard to read as well, especially if you're someone who has their own struggles with depression. So please be safe.  
> Enjoy!

The first thing he feels when he wakes up is nothing. The other side of the bed is cold, and he can hear voices coming from downstairs. They’re probably having breakfast together. He should go down. But he can’t make himself move. Can’t make himself face them.

Instead he waits until they’ve vacated the kitchen, sneaks down make a sandwich and then stays in the bedroom on his laptop most of the day, wasting his time playing this dumb game Sam got him for christmas. He’s gotten pretty good at it the past few weeks, because it’s a great way to pass the time while avoiding his loved ones. _Pathetic._ It’s kind of _really_ sexist, but at least it lets him get out of his own head. And that’s all he wants these days.

Cas comes in at about two pm, and he’s wearing a look of false levity. “Noah’s going out tonight, but Haley’s staying in, and we’re gonna have a movie night.”

Dean hears the silent question. _Are you going to join, or are you going to mope in our room all night?_

“Sounds nice.” He says, angling the laptop screen downwards. He watches Cas’s eyes flit over him where he lies on their bed, and he realises that it’s midday and he hasn’t even gotten dressed. He’s still in the sweatpants and t-shirt he pulled on to go down for breakfast. He hasn’t even - Shit, he hasn’t even brushed his teeth.

Cas doesn’t comment, because of course he doesn’t, he knows that wouldn’t lead to anything good. “Do you have any requests?”

Dean hates the tone Cas takes on when he talks to him now. It’s like he’s talking to a child. Like Dean has stopped being his husband and become his third kid. Which is completely fucking unfair, because Dean has been completely useless these past few months, and Cas has had to pick up all the slack, and is basically running himself ragged trying to deal with two hormonal teenagers, on top of a full time job, the last thing he needs is to take care of Dean too. Shame is pretty much Dean’s constant companion these days, and it intensifies as he meets Cas’s penetrating gaze.

“Whatever’s fine. You guys pick.”

“Are you sure?  I seem to remember you almost cried the last time you had to sit through a foreign film.”

“Yeah I’m sure.” Dean says, registering about five seconds too late that Cas was making a joke.

“Okay.” Cas hovers by the edge of the bed awkwardly. It’s kind of ridiculous that they can have awkward moments seeing as they’ve been together for twenty-six years, but hey, apparently miracles never fucking cease.

“Something else?”

Cas cocks his head to the side, and gestures to the laptop. “What are you doing?”

Dean knows he’s just trying to make conversation because he’s pretty much always doing the same thing. Wasting his time on the computer or staring blankly into space. “Just playing this dumb game.”

“Is it fun?” Cas asks, and Dean knows he doesn’t mean sound condescending but that doesn’t change the fact that it does. I comes out… Indulgent. And Dean’s painfully aware of the fact that he’s a middle aged man, sitting in bed in his sweats playing a computer game in the middle of the day already.

“It’s alright.” He says, shrugging.

Cas opens his mouth to say something else, so Dean reaches over to the bedside table, grabs his headphones, plugs them in and puts them on, and then stares intently at the screen, wanting Cas to stop hovering, stop asking questions, stop _looking_ at him. He breathes a sigh of relief when he finally looks up and sees the door closed again.

_Pathetic._

 

That night in the living room, they watch some pretentious, artsy fartsy movie and Cas and Haley both seem completely enraptured. Dean sees Cas’s hand twitch multiple times during their viewing, like he’s about to grab Dean’s hand. Dean isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed that he doesn’t. He wonders a lot if Cas really wants to touch him or be around him anymore. He stays late at work a often as he can, which he never used to do before. And it’s not like Dean thinks Cas would ever have an affair or anything like that, but infidelity isn’t a requirement for ending a marriage. Sometimes someone just doesn’t make you happy anymore. Dean’s pretty sure he isn’t capable of making anyone happy anymore. And even if Cas would never cheat, that doesn’t mean that he can’t _want_ someone else. Someone who doesn’t ignore him when he speaks, someone who doesn’t pull away when he touches them. Someone he doesn’t have to _remind_ to take a shower.  Cas is loyal, he always has been. Dean silently wonders if that’s the reason he’s still here.

 

That night in bed, Cas tries again.

“Maybe if you talked about it you’d…”

“Cas don’t.”

There’s a heavy sigh from the other side of the bed. “I know you’re still grieving but we can’t go on like this.”

The words just confirm what he already knows. Cas is unhappy, because of him. Their kids are unhappy because of him. Something’s gotta change. Dean’s gotta change, cause he’s the friggin problem. He needs to stop moping, and get back to pitching in around here. He needs to get his shit together.

“I know. He says. “I’m gonna… I’ll do better okay.” He’s gotta try harder or he’s gonna lose his husband. He’s gonna lose everything.

“Dean that’s not-” He sighs again. “I just want you to be okay.”

He hates the tiredness in Cas’s voice. He hates that the only thing he ever sees when he meets Cas’s eyes is concern. He falls asleep resolving to try harder. To pull himself together.

When he wakes up the next morning, the first thing he feels is nothing.

 

“He won’t talk.”

Dean’s not sure who he’s on the phone with, probably Meg, or one of his siblings. But what _is_ clear, is that he has no idea Dean is in the next room, able to hear every word he’s saying.

“I’ve tried, don’t you think I’ve fucking _tried_?” Cas only ever curses when he’s angry or frustrated. There’s a long pause, and Dean wishes he could hear the reply. “I know, fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you. I just don’t…” His voice breaks. “I just don’t know what to do. The kids are so confused and I don’t know what to tell them. I just lie and say it’s a rough patch, and it’s going to get better soon, but I don’t know that, because he won’t fucking talk to me. No matter what I say he just… He just shuts me down.”

At the sound of his husband starting to cry, Dean flees upstairs. He climbs into bed, pulling the covers up over his head like a little kid, wishing, just wishing for the darkness to swallow him. Consume him.

He doesn’t see Cas again until he comes upstairs to get ready for bed, no visible trace of tears on his tired face.

  


It’s been four months, almost to the day since John’s funeral, when Dean walks out to his car one Tuesday morning, only to take a wrong step on the uneven ground, and tumble to the ground with a startled yelp and a throbbing ankle. He’s a little surprised, but he can’t make himself have any feelings about it. Something bad happening isn’t a surprise to him anymore. He accepts it with a sort of dazed mental _huh_ , _so that happened._

It’s a struggle getting back inside the house, because if he puts even the slightest bit of weight on his right leg a sharp stab of pain shoots through it. Fuck, he really hopes Cas doesn’t make him go to the goddamn hospital.

There’s no way he can make it up the stairs without help, so he makes for the living room and lies down on the couch with a huff. He reaches into his pocket, to call in sick from the garage, explaining what happened, and being met with understanding. His ankle is swelling, so he plants it on the end of the couch, on a pile of cushions. He turns the tv on, but there’s nothing good, so he plays games on his phone until it runs out of battery. He really wishes his laptop wasn’t up those goddamn stairs. When his phone dies he just sighs and resigns himself to watching shitty daytime tv. He starts getting hungry as lunch gets nearer, but trying to get to the kitchen feels like too much of a gamble, so he stays where he is.

At about two he hears a key turn in the lock, which is weird, cause it’s way too early for anyone to be home. Maybe school let out early or something.

“Dean!?” It’s Cas’s voice, but he sounds _weird_. Breathless and scared. It sounds like he’s running, with his shoes still on even though they’re shoes off kind of people. “Dean!”

Dean’s too baffled to respond at first, but when he hears the distinct sound of his husband running up the stairs he snaps out of it. “Cas!? I’m down here! In the living room!” What the hell is going on?

The steps change direction, coming toward him until Cas appears. His eyes are wide and panicked, and he looks like he might be shaking a little. What the hell? He looks at Dean like he can’t really see him at first. Dean meanwhile, is just in a world of confusion. Cas just stares for a solid thirty seconds, before something seems to click, and the panic starts to seep out of him, giving way to what looks like relief, and weariness.

“I- I called you.” He says, and his blue eyes are haunted. His voice sounds like he’s on the edge of tears. “You didn’t pick up.”

Dean stares back at him, struggling to get his mouth to move. “My phone died. Why did you- Did something happen?” A sickening worry creeps into his gut then, the kind you’re only capable of feeling after you’ve had children.

“No, I was-” Cas brings his hands up, to cover his face and lets out a few stuttering breaths. “I was just calling to remind you about Noah’s piano recital, but you didn’t pick up, so I called the garage, and they said you called in sick.” He lets out a strange dry sob into his hands. “But you were fine when I left this morning so I-... I thought-”

Dean watches as his husband leans back onto the wall, and buries his head in his hands, nearly hyperventilating for at least a good two minutes. Dean watches and he hates himself. Hates that he’s brought them to this point. Hates that he’s reduced Cas to this state. He’s too busy hating himself to offer any comfort.

“I sprained my ankle.” He explains, once Cas’s breathing has mostly gone back to normal. Cas lifts his head up and blue eyes flit to Dean’s face. “When I was going out to the car this morning I sprained my ankle. That’s why I called in sick.”

Cas’s gaze glides along the length of Dean’s body, stopping at his ankle like he’s noticing the big pile of pillows it’s propped up on for the first time. “Oh.”

He isn’t actually crying, he just looks like a mess. He looks haggard and weary. And Dean doesn’t have anything to say to make it better.

Their eyes meet again, and the expression on Cas’s face makes Dean want to cry. But not as much as the words that come out of his mouth.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

 

It’s not as if Dean didn’t know this was coming. It’s all he’s been able to think about lately. The feeling of inevitability does something to soothe the sting. He doesn’t want to resist, he doesn’t want to beg and plead, because what’s the point? Cas deserves so much better than what he’s getting, Dean knows that, so he can hardly blame Cas for knowing it too.

Dean’s alone in the living room again, Cas left right after making his announcement. _I can’t do this anymore._ It’s a very vague, but Dean knows what he meant. In his mind, he sees Cas returning, but never empty handed. A suitcase. Divorce papers. Neither one would be surprising.

The suitcase would be for Dean, because there’s no way Cas would leave, the idea of him leaving the kids with Dean right now is laughable. He isn’t fit to be a parent anymore. Dean wonders where he’ll go. Not Sam and Jess’s, he doesn’t want to crowd them. He almost regrets letting Sam sell their childhood home, because going back there would almost be fitting. He could have died there, just like both his parents did.

Cas comes back down the stairs then, but he isn’t carrying a suitcase, or divorce papers, he’s carrying his laptop.

His face is almost expressionless, and his steps are brisk and determined. He walks up to the couch, and dumps the computer in Dean’s lap. “I’ve made you an appointment.”

Confused, Dean looks at the screen. There’s a picture of a woman, that’s the first thing he register. She’s black, has a penetrating gaze and is maybe about ten years older than Dean. There’s a name next to the photo; Missouri Moseley, and underneath is the word counselor. Counselor? Dean eyes flit upward to read the title of the website. Psychology today. _Oh_.

Dean hates the idea of therapy. With a passion. He hates the idea of paying to talk to someone, of having to sit in a room and talk about his petty problems for an hour with a stranger. Cas has brought it up a few times in the past few months, and Dean’s answer has always been a resounding _no way in hell_. But right now all he can feel is the palpable relief that it wasn’t a suitcase or divorce papers. He lifts his gaze back to Cas still standing by the couch, watching silently while Dean reads.

“A shrink?” Is the only thing Dean can think to say.

Cas nods, and his face betrays nothing. “Your appointment is at five next thursday. I’ll pick you up from work and drive you.” Pause. “This isn’t a discussion.”

His tone makes it clear that he’s expecting Dean to argue.

But Dean can’t, because this is _nothing_. Nothing compared to what he was imagining. “Okay.”

 

The first session is like pulling teeth. Dean wants to storm out at about seven different points during. He’s completely sure Cas must have given this lady some background information, because she knows _exactly_ what to ask. And every time she asks an invasive question he wants to yell that it’s none of her goddamn business. And yes, he knows that asking invasive questions is her job, but it’s still fucking annoying as shit. He doesn’t want to talk about his dad. But everytime he feels himself about to go off, he remembers the look on Cas’s face when he said he couldn’t do this anymore. And instead of yelling or walking out, he takes a deep breath and reminds himself that this is for Cas. This is for Noah. For Haley. And he answers every single question, even if he grits his teeth like it’s causing him physical pain. When the session is nearing its end, she explains that the first time mostly serves to give her an overview, and that they won’t really be getting into the nitty gritty until their next few meetings. Dean chokes back his urge to scream, and thanks her for her time.

Cas picks him up. Dean knows the reason he insisted on driving was so he could make sure Dean doesn’t try to skip out.

“How did it go?” Cas asks, when Dean gets into the car. He doesn’t turn to look at him, just stares out into the street.

 _Horrible, I hated it, please don’t make me go back._ “It was fine.”

Cas nods curtly, as they take off down the street. “And how’s your ankle?”

“Better.”

They don’t talk for the rest of the ride home. Or the rest of the day. Except when they’re in bed and Cas asks Dean to turn off the lights.

 

He calls her Missouri, because she hates Dr Moseley. The second session isn’t _as_ bad. The questions aren’t as prodding, or as invasive. She asks about Noah, and about Haley, and Dean thinks it may be a ploy to get him to relax, by appealing to that part of every parent that just wants to brag about their kids. If it is it kind of works. He brags. About Noah’s musical talent, his quiet intelligence, and his grades. He tells her how their son has got the very best of Cas. That quiet intuition and compassion, that single minded laser focus. Haley though… She’s _definitely_ more Dean. She always got good grades too, but was also really likely to be reprimanded for talking in class, or even getting in the occasional fight. She’s bold though, she knows what’s right, and she stands up for other people. He couldn’t be prouder of them. And he couldn’t be more ashamed to be letting them down either. But he keeps the last part to himself.

They touch on his father again, and Dean can tell she wants to delve _way_ deeper into that particular subject, but she doesn’t force things. She asks how he thinks he’s coping with the loss so far, and all he can do is lie and say he’s doing his best. Which can’t be true, because this shouldn’t be anyone’s best. If this is his best, then it’s just plain not good enough. They don’t talk about Cas a whole lot either, but he can tell she wants to dig deeper on that front too.

It’s toward the end of the session that she broaches the subject of antidepressants. Dean is taken aback. He’s silent for a minute as he ponders that. Antidepressants..? But they’re like… For _depressed_ people. Is that… Is that what this? Depression? Shit. He’s not sure why, but there’s some small kind of relief that comes with being able to put a name to it. Of course that also brings along another wave of shame, because how the hell did he let himself get this bad? How did he let himself get fucking depressed? _Pathetic._

She explains that antidepressants aren’t a must, but that they are an option. She gives him some name of medications to look into to, and tells him to consider it until their next session.

When he walks out of her office and onto the curb afterwards, the sunlight hits his face, and he feels… Not exactly better, but _lighter_ somehow.

Cas is waiting in the car again, and again he barely glances at Dean when he slides in.

“Hey.” Dean says, and for the first time in a long time, he’s bothered by the lack of eye contact.

“Hello. Did it go well?”

“Yeah uh… It did.” Strangely it’s much less of a lie this time. “You don’t have to keep driving me you know.”

“Will you still go if I don’t?”

Irritation bubbles up in Dean’s stomach at the implication that he’s some kind of child who has to be dragged somewhere, kicking and screaming. “Yeah Cas, I’ll still go.”

“Okay.” Castiel says softly, and that’s that.

 

Dean has always been the one who cooks. Partly because Cas _really_ can’t, but mostly because he loves it. Loved it. He doesn’t really find joy in a lot of things these days. But he still does it, because as much as he can’t really be a relied on for any kind of emotional support right now, he can still make sure to feed his family. A lot of days time slips away from him though, and he’ll rush downstairs to find that Cas has already ordered some kind of take out, because he doesn’t want to nag Dean. Or because he just doesn’t want to have to talk to Dean. Could be that.

But it’s friday and Dean actually feels kind of inspired to make something good for friday night dinner. So when he gets home from work, he shrugs out of his overalls and hops in the shower quickly. He doesn’t really feel a whole lot better since he started therapy, his mood is the same, his thoughts are still dark. But there is that small spark of something, just that kernel of hope that he can cling to. That maybe things can get better, maybe one day he won’t wake up feeling nothing.

 

Cas comes home at around five-thirty, and Dean is already at the stove. Five-thirty means he stayed at the university late again, and Dean can’t blame him. Who wants to come home to a husband who won’t talk to them, won’t touch them and can barely get out of bed?

Cas plants his briefcase down on the table and eyes Dean. “You’ve started dinner already?”

“Yeah, figured I’d get a headstart.”

Cas nods, and there’s something dangerously close to hope in his eyes. “What are you making?”

“Chicken Marsala.”

“Sounds delicious.”

Dean smiles down at the pan and then catches himself. Weird.

Cas hovers behind him, watching silently.

“Hey so uh… Can I ask you something?”

Cas cocks his head to the side. “Yes?”

Dean swallows, struggling to get the words out through the shame. “How do you feel about antidepressants?”

He chances a glance over his shoulder at Cas, and sees his eyes wide with surprise.

“Oh…” Cas rarely struggles with his words, but seems do be doing so now. “Good? I suppose. How do you feel about them?”

“Uh… I dunno. I guess I uh… Might be willing to try.”

“As long as it’s what you want.”

 

He tells Missouri their third session that he’s willing to give it a shot. He did do a little research on the ones she named, but ultimately, he’d rather defer to someone more qualified to make that decision. She tells him she’ll take a few days to work it out, and give him a call when his prescription is ready. And they move on to other topics.

“Tell me about your father.”

“Why do you wanna know about him?”

“Cause you don’t wanna talk about him. That means there’s something there.”

Dean sighs. Dammit, why’d she have to go and make sense now?

He talks about his dad. Reluctantly. In only two sessions, he’s still not convinced that therapy isn’t complete horsecrap. But he’s gotta give it a shot right? He’s gotta at least commit, or he’ll never know.

“My dad is… Honestly he’s probably rolling in his grave right now.” Or he would be, if they hadn’t cremated him.

“Why?”

“Because- If he could see me now, man he’d fucking kill me. Sitting here talking about my _feelings_ like some goddamn-” He has to stop himself, because he was almost about to say the word _sissy_. It was a word that John Winchester liked to throw around every now and again. And Dean’s very aware of the irony of being afraid of being a sissy, while also being married to a man. It’s fucked up really.

“What did he do then, if he was hurting?”

“I dunno… He kept it to himself I guess.” Drank, yelled, berated, even threw a punch once in a while.

“And did that work? Did it make him a better man? A kinder man? A better father?”

Dean lets out a loud snort. Point taken.

 

That Sunday, Dean picks up a brand new prescription, and that same night at dinner he pops his first pill. It goes down easy. After dinner, he’s alone in his bedroom like usual, but when he starts his game up he feels this sharp burst of dissatisfaction. This isn’t what he wants to be doing. He wants… He doesn’t want to be alone right now. He goes downstairs to the living room, and picks _Cat’s Cradle_ out of the bookshelf. Haley’s planted in the armchair, and she looks up when she sees him. Dean can’t stand his kids looking at him, hasn’t been able to for months. Because he knows what they see. _Pathetic._ He wants to go back up the stairs and hide, but for some reason he takes the book, and sits down on the couch instead.

“Hey kiddo, what’re you watching?”

“Project Runway.”

He watches with her, and she glances at him every so often, which makes him feel a little anxious. But other than that it’s so nice.

“Nina’s such a bitch.” She complains, when they get to the judging bit.

“Hey c’mon, we don’t use that word.” Dean says. He knows if Cas were here, he’d have some kind of great lecture about the harmful words we use to describe women, and respect and double standards and a bunch of other stuff that Dean can’t even attempt to replicate. He wishes Cas was here. Sure, Cas is technically here, but he’s in the kitchen, grading papers. Dean has this strange urge to just go watch him. It’s always weirdly soothing to watch Cas work, his absolute focus, his glasses sliding down his nose. They haven’t really touched in close to five months now. Dean doesn’t know how to approach him, which is ridiculous, after so many years together, but he just doesn’t. In all the time they’ve been together, Dean has always felt secure in the fact that he had something to offer. Whether that was sex, or making Cas laugh, hell, it was _something._ Right now he’s got nothing to give. Maybe he should file this away to talk about in therapy later. Wait holy fuck _what_ ? Is that the kind of person he is now? The kind of person who files things away to talk about in therapy later. Shit what’s next, is he gonna start keeping a dream journal or some crap? Oh Sam would _love_ this.

The show ends, and Haley goes up to her room, but not before leaning in and giving Dean a kiss on the cheek. And Dean feels all the things she wants to say, but doesn’t know how to. It’s just one of the many ways they’re alike.

 

Slowly but surely, he starts feeling a little better. Food goes down a little easier, getting stuff done is a little easier, and he doesn’t think about death as much.

This week’s session gets heavy. Really heavy. They pick up right where they left off last week. With John. And Dean talks. There’s a little drawer in his mind, where he just shoved a bunch of stuff years ago, and it’s labeled as _this is the shit we’re never gonna talk about ever._ He’s not sure what it is about these particular memories that qualifies them for the drawer, because he doesn’t look at them, doesn’t examine them, keeps them far out of the light. He doesn’t open the drawer, not yet, but it’s more like… he nudges it open, just a little, to peek inside. The strange thing is, he can talk about the stuff that John did to him, the cold, harsh way he would often treat him. The thing that keeps getting stuck in his throat is how he felt about it. That’s what he’s scared to look at. That’s what’s at the bottom of the drawer. The fear, the rejection, the humiliation. The shame.

“And when you got the news?” She asks. “How did you feel?”

“Uh… Sad I guess. Pissed maybe.” This weird thing has been happening these past few sessions, where he’ll just hear some answer coming out of his own mouth, only to belatedly realise how true it is. Pissed. He was pissed.

“What were you angry about?”

Dean takes a minute to ponder the question, and as he thinks back to the moments he learned of his father’s death, a lone tear makes its way down his cheek. “I dunno, a bunch of crap.” He squirms in his seat, Missouri’s gaze on his face prompting him to go on. Or forcing him maybe. Lady’s kinda terrifying. “You know, when Cas and I got together, dad thought we wouldn’t last. I left home to be with Cas, moved to another city, and my old man was sure it was one of those things that would just burn out. Probably cause he thought I’d fail at everything I tried. And then, when he realised I was never coming back, it was like I abandoned him. He could never be happy for me, cause I was betraying him. And he never got over it, me leavin. Guess he always expected me to be the one who stuck around. The loyal one you know?” He lets out a joyless laugh, and words that have been struggling to get out for years make their way up his throat.  “Even though he treated me like crap half the time. And I guess he decided to punish me for leaving by cutting me out of his life. I’ve been with Cas twenty-six years, and I can count the times he’s met my dad on one hand. Even when the kids came along, he still chose his own goddamn bitterness over having a family. He was a stubborn _ass_.”

Missouri looks at him with that all knowing gaze. “But you loved him.”

“Yeah I did. I do.” Dean wipes his cheeks again, and he doesn’t know _how_ he’s okay with crying in front of this woman.

“And you still hoped he’d change.”

That hits him right in the heart. “Yeah.”

That night he breaks down crying in the shower, just like he did the day he found out. He cries for the dream that’s gone forever, the dream he’s held on to so long, despite knowing it would probably never come true. He cries for the apologies he never got, the closure that never came. He cries for his dad who was too proud for his own good, and who could never admit when he was wrong. His dad who died all alone. He gets out of the shower, wraps his  towel around himself and cries some more. To the point that he’s not even sure what he’s crying about anymore.

It’s completely obvious that he’s been crying, and as soon as he steps inside their bedroom, he can tell Cas notices. His blue eyes go wide.

“Dean? What’s-” He scoots toward the edge of the bed, and reaches his hand out to grasp at Dean’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Dean isn’t sure why he flinches away. He really isn’t. Because he wants Cas, he misses Cas so much it hurts. But he does pull away. Maybe it’s just become a habit at this point.

A mirage of feelings flit over Cas’s face, and then it’s like he closes himself off from Dean, mentally isolates himself. “Sorry.” He says. “I forgot.”

He says he forgot as if Dean has some kind of condition. Maybe that’s what this has become, the no touching thing. Dean’s not sure how to undo it.

The silence is palpable. Cas lies back in bed and turns on his side. Away from Dean.

“Hey Cas-”

“It’s late, let’s just go to sleep.”

Dean sighs, dries off, gets his sweats on, and climbs into bed. His hands itch to touch, to reach out, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know _how_ to be with Cas when he’s like this. Right now he isn’t who Cas married. He isn’t who Cas fell in love with.

The next morning he wakes up, and he feels something.

 

Over the next few weeks, Dean keeps getting better. He keeps going to therapy, keeps letting Missouri poke around his head as she pleases. He’s starting to feel almost like himself again. He starts making dumb jokes with the guys at the garage again. Starts enjoying food again. He starts smiling at his son and daughter over the breakfast table again. He feels almost like a person again. He starts getting creative with his cooking again, and it’s such a small thing, but it brings him so much joy. Joy, because he can _feel_ again. He’s not completely empty anymore.

He’s still taking his pills every day, he’s still working through the grief, and Missouri’s helping him. She patiently explains to him that it’s a process, and that it takes as long as it takes. Process is such a goddamn shrinky word to use. She also explains that grieving is not the same thing as being in a constant state of depression, but that when we repress things, they usually come back to bite us in the ass.

 

“You’re looking better.” Sam says, once they’re left alone in his and Jess’s dining room for the first time. “You’ve looked like shit for months.”

“Oh _I’ve_ looked like shit? You look in the mirror lately? Cause I think your hair’s trying to take over the world.”

“Haha, the hair jokes never get old Dean. Honestly though, you seem to be doing better.”

“Yeah, I am. I’ve been uh… Seeing someone. A professional.”

Sam’s furrows his brow. “What does that mean?”

“A shrink.” Dean admits with a sigh of resignation. He’s not even sure why he’s telling Sam about it.

Sam’s eyes pop wide open and he looks at Dean like he’s just declared he was pregnant with an alien spawn. “You-” He points at Dean like Dean would get confused about who he’s referring to. “ _You’re in therapy_?”

“Yeah Sam, I am.” He learns in this moment that he still can’t talk about it without feeling defensive.

Sam takes a solid minute and a half to process that. “That’s… That’s great Dean. I’m really proud of you.”

“Yeah yeah.” Dean says, trying to deflect and escape the sincerity like he always does. He’s also not sure what there is to be proud of.

“I mean it. You’re doing what you need to do to get better.”

“Thanks man.”

Jess and Cas come back in the room then, close together, and they’re talking about some book they’ve both read. Jess walks over to Sam, kissing him on the cheek lightly. And when she sits down Sam slings his arm over her shoulder. Dean watches as Cas looks at them, longing in his eyes. Shit. That’s the only thing that isn’t returning to normal. They barely talk. When they do it’s just things like who’s driving the kids to school, and _can you please take the garbage out_ ? For the first few months of Dean being… sick or whatever, Cas tried all the time. _Relentlessly_. He tried to talk, tried to comfort, tried to touch. But somewhere along the way it’s like he just shut down. Just became this robot, trained to perform all these different tasks. Wake up, get the kids to school, go to work, drive Dean to therapy, take care of everyone, remind Dean to shower, go to bed, and repeat the next day. And now it’s like he’s completely closed off. He does everything, functions as well as he always has, but it’s like he’s emotionally bankrupt or something. At least with Dean. With the kids he’s still Cas, maybe a little more tired version of Cas, but still, when the kids are around, he makes sure to be their parent. The only parent they’ve been able to rely on lately. But even then, it feels like he’s mostly just playing a part. Dean never knew you could miss someone when they’re right next to you.

 

He recovers. Fully. He feels like himself again. He’s not just waking up anymore, he’s awake. It doesn’t sink in fully until now, how truly sick he got. How the depression tricked him, somehow turning the whole world dark around him. He thought Cas was going to leave him. Was convinced of it really. Which is fucking crazy, because Cas has been unflinchingly loyal for twenty-six years, never straying an _inch_ , or wavering in his love of Dean. Somehow the illness drowned out rational thought.

Some things make him feel sick now. Because they remind him of the illness. He throws out the sweatpants he wore almost every day, and he uninstalls that fucking game from his computer. And he spends as little time in his bedroom as possible. If he’s home, he’s in the den, or the kitchen. It’s nice, the kitchen has big windows, lets the light in.

He pitches in a lot more, but it’s hard, because no matter how sure Dean is that he’s recovered, he still gets those worried glances. It’s annoying, and makes the all too familiar shame bubble up in his stomach, but he figures the only cure for their worry is time. He might be back, but time is the only thing that will show them that. He needs to be a father again, needs to be a husband.

There’s a certain tentativeness in the way his children interact with him now, especially Haley. Noah mostly tries to pretend he’s unaffected by what’s been going on in their family, but Dean knows it’s complete horseshit. Dean’s been gone. Not physically, but mentally, emotionally, he’s been gone. There’s no way a child is unaffected by that, even if he is a seventeen year old boy who thinks he’s gotta be strong. Dean’s been gone, and they’re tentative because they’re scared to trust that he’s back and ready to be their dad again. He knows Cas has been speaking to them about it. About the depression, the therapy, the antidepressants. Because Cas believes in an open communication about everything. It’s weird thinking about the fact that his husband has been speaking to their children about Dean. And that Dean really wasn’t included in that decision at all, because Cas was basically single parenting at that point. Shit he got really bad. He looks back at some of the things he did and said, and just generally how he behaved, and it’s this strange entity he doesn’t recognise. This hollowed out ghoul version of himself. He hates that his kids saw him like that. He hates that he can’t erase it from their memories, and have them see him like they did before. He’ll never get that thing back, of having his kids look at him like he’s invincible again. From now on, he’ll always be human to them. It _stings_. But the most important thing is that he gets to be their dad again. Even if it’s a more human version.

Cas is trickier. How to approach it, how to mend it. Dean knows they need to talk. There’s a helluva lot to talk about. But he also just… _Needs._ He’s needed Cas all the way through it, but Cas was also the one thing he wouldn’t let himself have. Man that’s messed up. He wouldn’t let himself have the one thing that would make it all better. Because he was so ashamed.

So far, his approach to the whole Cas situation has been to, well… _flirt_ . He’ll wink at him while he pours his coffee, or catch his eye over the newspaper. He’s been waiting for the perfect opportunity to slyly slip his hand into Cas’s. Maybe it’s kind of weird that he’s basically pulling some Jane Austen style courtship routine on his husband of twenty-two years but hey, Dean’s sort of lacking any information on how to handle this. So he’s winging it. It’s been going pretty well too, whenever Cas catches his eyes he gets this adorable little smile on his face, and his eyes just fucking sparkle with joy, like he’s so delighted that his own goddamn husband is paying attention to him, and not snapping at him like a temperamental five year old. Which makes Dean feel guilty times ten. He files it away to talk about in therapy. Because yes, turns out that _is_ the kind of person he is now. And yes he also has a notebook where he writes that shit down so he doesn’t forget during the week, but it’s not a dream journal so shut up.

 

It’s a rarity having both their kids home for dinner on a friday. Dean decides to break out the grill for the occasion. He makes meat skewers, and some vegetable crap for Cas and the kids. Dean’s not touching that stuff, no matter how many times Sam tells him he needs all food groups. He makes homemade fries and sauce to go along with the skewers, and his work is appreciated.

“This is really good dad.” Haley compliments, going to town on a skewer like only she can. It’s a pretty surefire way of pinpointing that yes, this girl _did_ get half of her genes from Dean.

“Thanks honey.” Dean says, smiling widely. He turns to his son. “What about you kiddo, you like it?”

Noah nods, but looks down at his plate instead of meeting Dean’s eyes. “Yeah dad, it’s good.”

Dean lets his eyes linger on him for a moment, and he lets out a mental sigh. His son never used to be careful or even polite around him before. He treated him like any teenage boy who thinks his dad is a total dweeb. Dean never thought he would miss the eye rolls, and the attitude, but he really does.

“It is delicious Dean.” Cas says, but then eyes Dean’s plate critically. “Although I think perhaps you could do with one of these.” He lifts one of the vegetable skewers off the tray and plants in on Dean’s plate.

Haley lets out a fond laugh. This is a classic bit in their family. Except it’s not a bit. It’s just Dean’s lifelong vow never to eat anything green, clashing with Cas’s need to keep his husband healthy. The way her eyes light up makes Dean feel all warm and gooey inside. He can tell she’s missed this.

“Thanks baby, that’s so thoughtful.” He says, poking at the skewer with thinly veiled disgust.

Cas’s eyes snap up to Dean’s face, with a more vulnerable expression than Dean’s seen there for a long time. It’s right then that he realises how long it’s been since he’s called Cas that. He looks into Cas’s eyes and he doesn’t want to stop. He wants to pull him in and kiss him. He wants to get his hands in that messy hair, and mess it up even more. He wants to lace their fingers together. Cas looks back at him like that’s what he wants too.

“Ew, I think they’re like having a moment.” Noah comments.

And the moment’s over.

 

They’re on the couch, and Dean’s being forced to sit through _Lost in Translation_. He’s seen it before, he didn’t like it then, and he doesn’t like it now. Unfortunately his husband and his daughter are both pretentious little shits, and when they combine their powers, there’s nothing Dean can do to stand in their way. Even Noah’s joining in, which is unusual because he’d normally go up to his room, since he’s too cool to hang out with his family anymore. But not tonight. Dean knows he’s missed having his whole family together just as much as Haley has.

Dean spends a good part of the movie just watching Cas. He has the most expressive face. Dean loves the way his nose crinkles up when he laughs. The way he shakes his head absentmindedly when the characters do something he doesn’t agree with. Dean’s favorite however is this wide eyed awed look Cas gets, when he’s so moved by something he finds so beautiful it’s beyond words. That’s a look Dean’s seen up close a lot of times. Even if he never felt like he deserved it.

Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson are saying goodbye, and Cas has exactly that look on his face. His eyes are shiny with unspilled tears. Dean reaches over and laces their fingers together. Cas turns away from the screen to look at him.

Dean just smiles and lifts their joined hands, pressing a kiss to Cas’s knuckles. He inclines his head toward the screen. “You’re missing the end.”

Cas turns back to the screen, in this weird jerky movement, like it’s physically painful to stop looking at Dean.

As the credits roll, he very gingerly plants his head down on Dean’s shoulder, glancing up at him like he’s waiting for rejection. Dean just angles his face and presses a kiss into that thicket of dark brown hair he loves so much. Cas lets out a soft sigh of contentment.

 

Later, Dean’s waiting for Cas in their bedroom, and the kids are both in their respective rooms, on the other side of the house. He’s not sure what the plan is, but he just knows he needs to kiss his husband. Like _yesterday_ , and every day before that.

Castiel opens the door and seems surprised to find Dean on the other side of it.

“Hey.” Dean says, reaching out and grabbing Cas’s upper arm gently.

He maneuvers Cas toward him and closes the door behind them.

“Hello.” Castiel replies and there’s something raw and taut in his voice.

They move closer to each other in that small space right by the door. The lights are off but he can see the naked look of want in Cas’s eyes clearly.

“Fuck I’ve missed you.” He says, going in for the kill.

Just the feeling of relief at having Castiel in his arms again is enough to make Dean want to cry. And Cas seems to be on the same page. He kisses like he’s starving. He kisses like he’s been wandering the desert for a week, and Dean is a friggin fountain of clear fresh water. He kisses like he _needs_.

Cas is a really good kisser, but right now there’s none of that usual refined technique there, it’s all desperation. His hands move to the back of Dean’s head, running his fingers through Dean’s hair in an almost frantic tempo, like he’s trying to make sure Dean is solid, and there. Dean coaxes him, with his lips and his tongue, to slow down, to relax into the kiss. He runs his hands soothingly up Cas’s back, and feels Cas shiver slightly. Their bodies press together and Cas moans in Dean’s mouth. Dean lets his lips wander from Cas’s mouth, to his neck, and he takes a moment to breathe in that familiar scent of Cas’s skin. It’s perfect. Cas lets his hands slip under Dean’s shirt, and his fingernails softly rake the skin on Dean’s lower back as he steers them toward the bed. He sits down on the edge and then scoots upward, and he pulls Dean up, on top of him. They kiss, with soft sighs and moans, and it’s not until Cas grinds his crotch up against him that Dean realises that this is like _foreplay_ . As in, they’re about to have sex foreplay. Of course Cas would want to have sex, they haven’t done it in close to six months. Only problem is that Dean didn’t really think this far. And well… Although he’s pretty much returned to normal, there’s one part of him that hasn’t. Like _at all_.

He tries to get lost in the kissing Cas. He tries to be affected by the little moans and gasps he lets out. Those would normally go straight to his dick. He tries to be turned on by the very obvious erection grinding against his thigh. But _nothing_. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

Obviously noticing the way Dean’s gone all tense on top of him, Cas extricates himself from their embrace enough to look up at Dean with a confused expression. He looks sort of dazed and wanton.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asks his eyes wide and questioning.

_Well I just wanted to kiss you but now you’re all horny and there’s something I should probably have considered..._

“I uh…” Shit this his humiliating. It probably wouldn’t be as bad, except this was supposed to be his moment to sweep Cas off his feet after the shitstorm that’s been the past six months. Not his moment to give Cas blue balls. “I’m not uh… I can’t really um...” He gestures to his crotch, unable to get himself to say the words.

Cas looks really confused for a beat but then it seems to click. “Oh.” He doesn’t look nearly as upset at that as Dean thinks he should be.

He slips his hand in between them and starts rubbing his hand on the front of Dean’s crotch. There’s some reaction to the pure physical act, but it’s nowhere near fully hard, and Dean knows that as soon as Cas removes his hand he’ll be back down to zero.

Cas kisses his neck softly, still moving his hand over  Dean’s clothed non-erection.

“Cas it’s not… It’s not working.” Dean says, feeling just utter humiliation at this failure crash over him. He pulls himself up into sitting position, turning around on the bed so he’s facing the door instead of Cas. God, he wants to crawl into a hole and die.

Cas comes up behind him and his hands gently massage Dean’s shoulders. God, Dean can’t even look at him right now. This _really_ took a shitty turn.

“Dean it’s fine. It was right there on the label. It’s a very common side effect.”

“Yeah… I uh… I know I just… I wasn’t thinking.”

Cas presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pressure you, or make you feel like...”

Dean feels the urgent need to get away from him, like _right now_. To get away from the embarrassment and shame he’s gonna feel if he looks at him. Crap how does this keep happening? How does he keep failing Cas again and again?

Cas seems remarkably unperturbed by the fact that Dean’s antidepressants are going to leave him with blue balls for the foreseeable future. He’s busy pressing kisses to Dean’s shoulder and running his fingers through the hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck, probably just trying to make him feel better. Dean _needs_ to get away.

“Let’s ju-” Cas starts, but Dean cuts him off.

“I’m gonna go take a shower.” He says, making the first excuse he can think off and leaving the room without looking back at his husband. When he gets there he grips the sink with his hands. _Yeah_. So that didn’t go so well.

He does actually need a shower, he’s got that smoky smell to him after grilling. So he steps under the spray, and reminds himself that a limp dick isn’t the end of the world. It’s just embarrassing because he was trying to do something nice for Cas, he was trying to connect again, and _boy_ did it backfire.  He feels okay when he gets out. Sure, he’d prefer this have gone another direction, but hey, at least he got to kiss his husband again. And it was everything he’s been missing, everything he’s been needing. When he gets back to their bedroom Cas is already under the covers, asleep. He’s got his back turned towards the door and Dean, in line with how they’ve been sleeping the past few months. Dean climbs in bed, looks at him and aches with the need to make him happy. That’s the one thing he’s always been good at, so why is does it feel like such a struggle lately? Cas deserves to be happy, he deserves to be taken care of after everything he’s had to deal with lately. No matter what, Dean’s gonna find a way to make him happy.

 

He gets up early the next morning, and while he’s downstairs, standing over the stove, he thinks it over. He’s pretty sure he owes his recovery way more to the therapy than to the pills, so maybe it couldn’t hurt to take it up with Missouri, see how she’d feel about him getting off them sometime soon. After all, he’s got the tools to deal with crap now, and it’s not like Dean’s ever been prone to depression before. And no matter how good his mood has been lately, he won’t actually have gotten back to his old self until he gets off them. Also he _really_ wants to have sex. And he wants to give his husband what he wants.

Cas is the first to come down, his sweatpants slung low on his hips, and wearing one of Dean’s old band t-shirts, the print faded. His bed head is a real stunner.

He looks over at the stove. “Pancakes?”

Dean flashes him a smile. “Yeah, wanted to do something nice. I know you usually like that whole grain crap for breakfast but you might wanna make an exception.” He gestures to the big pile of fluffy pancakes.

Cas yawns and eyes the stack. “Yes, I think I will.”

Dean turns the last pancake over, and Cas walks over to the cupboards, to take out plates and starts setting the table.

Dean walks through the room to the stairs to shout up them. “Noah! Haley! Breakfast is ready!”

“You’d be better off texting them.” Cas says, setting out four plates on the kitchen table.

Dean laughs, and goes back to the stove. He pops the last pancake onto the stack, and shuts it off, leaving the fan on for a little bit. He takes glasses out of the cupboard and reaches over the kitchen island to hand them to Cas, who sighs gratefully and sets them out on the table.

“So listen, about last night…”

“Yes?” Cas says, but he doesn’t look up.

“I’m sorry I just bolted, I got kind of… Embarassed.”

“That’s okay, I understand.” He moves to set out the glasses on the other side of the table, so his back is to Dean.

“Thanks. But anyway, I was thinking, maybe next Thursday when I see Missouri, I could bring it up. See about getting off the pills.”

“No.”

Dean stares at his back, completely taken aback. “ _What_?”

Cas isn’t moving. He’s still got his back towards Dean, and he’s almost unnaturally still. “I said no.” He clarifies, in a voice that leaves no room for argument. It’s the same voice he used when he told Dean he was going to therapy and that it wasn’t a discussion, the one that made it clear he was the adult in the situation, and therefore he was the one making the decision.

It brings forth a sharp burst of annoyance in Dean, because he’s better now, he’s himself, and he’s not about to let Cas make his decisions for him anymore. “ _No_ ? That’s- Cas I’m sorry, but that’s not up to you. It’s my goddamn body, my brain that’s being affected, and that makes it _my_ choice.”

He waits for Cas to retort, for this to blow up into the fight that seems inevitable at this point. He watches his husband’s back carefully. Watches him tense up, like he’s about to yell, and then watches him slump over, like all the air went out of him.

“You know what Dean?!” His voice is angry, but it’s even more shaky and defeated. “Do whatever the hell you want!”

Dean sees him grip the table, his knuckles turning white like it’s the only thing keeping him standing. All his irritation dissipates, instantly replaced with worry. “Cas?”

There’s no reply. Cas hangs his head down as his shoulders starts heaving and his body starts shaking. Crap.

Dean moves toward him carefully. “Cas? Baby, what’s going on?” Six months ago, he wouldn’t have a moment’s hesitation about rushing over and sweeping Cas up in his arms. But these six months have changed a lot, and left everything feeling so fraught. He approaches gingerly, and lays his hand on the back of Cas’s neck. “Hey, you wanna go upstairs?”

“No.” Cas snaps back angrily. “Just leave me alone.”

Dean sighs, and rubs his hand in a circle on Cas’s back. “Baby that’s- I’m not gonna leave you alone when you’re like this.”

“Why not? That’s what- That’s all you-” He starts sobbing so hard he can’t speak. His head is still bent down, but his tears are falling freely and plenty, landing on the white and blue porcelain of the plate he’s leaning over.

Dean pulls him closer and inhales the smell of his hair. “Hey come on, let’s just… Let’s go upstairs, and-” _And deal with this breakdown in private,_ is what he thinks, but doesn’t say out loud because he’s not a complete idiot.

Cas pulls away, “You- I don’t-” That’s all he gets out in between sobbing.

Dean watches helplessly as his husband sinks down onto the floor by the kitchen island, practically curls into a little ball, and continues sobbing.

Dean kneels down in front of him, reaching over to take his hand and hold it in between his own. Cas lifts his head up and looks at him. His eyes are filled with so many things. Anger, bitterness, hurt and pure longing. Tears stream down his face, and he lets out another gasping, stuttering sob. Dean lifts Cas’s hand to his mouth and kisses it, trying to convey in one kiss all his love, all his remorse and all his apologies. When he lifts his eyes Cas is still looking at him, a fresh stream of tears making their way down his cheeks. And God he’s beautiful. Dean lifts his hand to gently wipe under his eyes. Cas sags against his hand, closing his eyes, his bottom lip quivering.

“Please,” He whispers, “Please don’t- I can’t-”

Before Dean can get any real idea of what he’s trying to say, they hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Of _course_ today would be the day they decided to take less than forty minutes to come down when they were called.

“Shit.” Cas whispers, and he starts trying to stand up, but Dean isn’t having it. He knows Cas hates the idea of letting the kids see him this way, but there’s no way in hell he can pull off pretending to be fine right now.

“No no no,” He says, gently pushing him back down. It’s really easy, Cas’s body clearly wants to stay down, he’s so exhausted. “I’ll take care of it okay, you just sit tight.”

Cas nods, burying his face in his hands. God he’s a mess.

“I’ll be right back.” Dean assures him, pressing a kiss to his head as he rises to his feet. He walks through the kitchen swiftly, and makes it just in time to intercept his children who are walking down the stairs together, bickering about something or other. He’s not quite fast enough though, because as the kitchen door swings closed behind him, he registers the moment they both catch a glimpse of Cas where he’s curled up on the floor. Crap on a stick, this morning just keeps getting better and better.

“Hey guys, there’s uh… Been a change of plans. Breakfast is ready and served, but me and your dad need to uh… Have a talk, so you’ll be eating alone.”

Haley’s eyes are wide and frightened, and she looks like she’s about to burst out crying. Noah looks like he wants to run away from here. He’s more one to lash out than cry. Smash things. Dean did _not_ anticipate having to deal with three different sets of intense emotions this early in the morning.

“Is dad okay?” Haley asks, and yep, there’s a definite tremble in her voice.

God, his kids are fourteen and seventeen, but they both look so much smaller right now. Like scared little kids. His scared little kids.

“He’s fine honey, he’s just been through a lot. He’s tired, he needs a moment. But you don’t gotta worry okay, I’m taking care of him.”

Haley nods, the first tears springing free and making their way down her freckled face. “Are _you_ okay?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, and there’s so many different things wrapped up in that one small sentence.

Dean looks at his children. At his daughter who’s frightened and crying. At his son who’s standing back silently, only speaking through his eyes. Eyes that say he’s scared, he’s sad, but the only way he knows how to deal with it is to turn it into anger, and lash out later. God, these last months must have been hell for both of them.

He wraps his arms around his daughter and pulls her close. “I’m good honey. I’m good. I’m so sorry I scared you.”

She clings to him like she used to when she was just a tiny little thing, crying into the soft fabric on his shoulder.

“C’mere bud.” Dean says to Noah who’s still just watching silently.

Noah shakes his head. “I’m good dad.” he mumbles, looking down at his own feet.

Dean thinks he might be trying not to cry. “This is a mandatory group hug son.”

Noah comes forward, plays it off as if he’s reluctant but yeah, Dean’s not buying that. He wraps his arms around both of them. And it’s a long hug. It’s like three solid minutes worth of hug. And when Dean sees a defiant tear trailing a path down his son’s face he doesn’t comment, he just holds on tighter.

And when they finally pull apart, he takes Noah’s face in his hands and presses a kiss to his temple. “I love you kiddo.” He turns to his daughter and presses one to her forehead. “I love you both like crazy.”

“I love you too dad.” Haley says, lingering like she’s doesn’t want to let go.

Dean takes a deep breath to gather himself. “Think you can give me like five minutes and then come back downstairs?”

They both nod. And as Dean watches them follow his instruction he thinks that hey, that wasn’t a _complete_ parenting fail of a moment. He knows they need to sit down with them, and have a longer talk about everything, but Dean really needs his partner in crime for that. And considering the fact that his partner in crime is currently curled into a ball on the kitchen floor, they’re gonna have to postpone that for a little bit.

Cas isn’t actively sobbing when he comes back in the room, he just looks completely fucking exhausted. But a little more like himself.

“Are they okay?” He asks, as Dean kneels down in front of him again. There’s a bone deep weariness in his voice. He looks like he would fall over if he tried to stand up.

“They’re good, I handled it.”

“We should… We should go talk to them, they must be so confused and-” Even speaking seems to take considerable effort. He’s exhausted his supply, there’s nothing left in him.

“Yeah we should, but I’m thinking we oughta take care of you first.”

Cas drags his hand across his face. “I’m fine.”

Dean smiles and caresses his cheek. “Bullshit.”

Cas just sighs and his eyes fill with tears again.

Dean leans in to kiss his forehead. “You gonna get up or do I have to carry you?”

Cas scoffs, a sad, weak huff. “Please, as _if_ you could carry me.”

Dean wasn’t being serious when he said it, but he raises his eyebrows at the challenge. “Watch me.”

And despite Cas’s protests, Dean carries his husband up the stairs.

They land on their bed with an undignified huff. At least he proved his point. That was fucking hell on his back though.  

He gets up to close the door, leaving Cas sprawled on the middle of the bed on his back. He comes back to sit on the edge of bed, not wanting to crowd Cas, even though he’s itching to get closer.

Cas parts his legs, leaving a wide space between them where Dean’s body could fit, and he reaches his hand out, fingers flexing. “Please?”

Dean doesn’t need to be asked twice. He fits his body into that space, their upper bodies pressed close, and his face hovering over Cas’s.

Cas’s eyes are closed and there’s a fresh trail of tears making their way down his face.

Dean wipes them away, and leans down to kiss his cheek. “Hey. Talk to me.”

Blue eyes open fly open and they’re filled with anger. Or more like a quiet kind of resentment, like he’s too exhausted to muster up that fiercely cold anger he can usually harness. “Oh, like you talk to me you mean?”

Dean sighs. It’s not like he can argue with that. It’s not only fair, it’s _true_ . “I… I’m working on that okay? I know I’ve… I’ve got some stuff to deal with, and I know it’s been hurting you. But this, right now, I can do _this_. And you not talking to get back at me, that ain’t helping anyone.”

Cas lets his hand wander up to Dean’s cheek, mapping his face with gentle presses of his fingertips, then he swats one cheek, light as a feather. “I hate it when you make sense.”

Dean smiles. “I know baby.”

Cas is silent for a moment, his hands still tracing Dean’s features, his body warm and pliant under Dean’s.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me?”

Cas still kisses like he’s starving. And as their lips move together, Dean realises that he got last night all wrong. It wasn’t about sex. It was about this. It was about needing to be close, needing to be held and taken care of. That’s a thing Dean can do. He can kiss Cas as long as he needs.

“I love you.” He whispers in between, and Cas has to pull back, because he starts crying again. _Really crying._

It’s like a toxin, just oozing out of him.

“I’m sorry.” He says then, his voice thick with tears.

“Sorry? What’ve you got to be sorry about?” Dean asks, wiping his husband’s cheeks.

“I- If I wasn’t… I tried but I couldn’t _help_ you. I’m sorry if I was too cold or if I said the wrong things I just-” His voice breaks and he lets out a gasping sob. “I just wanted to hold you but you wouldn’t even let me touch you and I-”

“Hey hey, schh. Calm down.” He leans his forehead against Cas and coaxes him to breathe slower. “You don’t talk like that Cas, ever, you hear me? I… I got sick okay. And that’s not on you, not one bit. You did everything you could, you got me in therapy, you’re the reason I’m better. That was all you. Don’t you dare blame yourself.”

“But I didn’t realise!” Cas says, his voice wrought in despair. “I thought you were just grieving at first, and that I should give you space because it’s what you wanted. I should have made you go sooner, I should have- Dean, I should have seen what was wrong. I should have known you needed help, that you wouldn’t just snap out of it. I was so worried, but I didn’t want to push, cause no matter what I said you-”

Yeah Dean remembers. The snapping, the twisting Cas’s words, the basically being impossible to be around. “You couldn’t have known baby. You did everything you could, as soon as you realised. You took care of the kids, you took care of everything. It was me. I was sick, and I got mean, and unreasonable, and I was gonna be a dick no matter what you did or said. I’m so fucking sorry okay? Cause I don’t understand it either, but it’s like it just took over me. And I hate the things I said to you, how I acted. You’re… The way you’ve been this whole time has been amazing. You’re friggin superhuman baby, it’s crazy how strong you are.”

“I don’t feel superhuman.” Cas says, and honestly, right now, he really doesn’t look it either. He looks fragile, messy, utterly human.

Dean tangles his finger’s in Cas’s hair. “Well you shouldn’t have to.”

Dean keeps carding his fingers through Cas’s hair, and kissing the side of his face while he cries silently. When the tears stop, their lips meet again, and Cas sighs softly against him. He runs his hands down Dean’s back, and tangles them in Dean’s hair, like he’s using them to remember every part of Dean. To remind himself. And for a moment they don’t kiss, Cas just lets Dean hold him, curling around him and breathing peacefully into the crook of his neck.

“The day… The day I hurt my ankle…” Dean starts and Cas immediately tenses under him. “You thought I’d done something.”

He looks down to meet Cas’s eyes and finds an expression there he never wants to see again. His blue eyes are wide, pained and haunted. But he nods. Dean doesn’t really need the confirmation. He already knew, but he figures it’s good to talk about it.

“I saw you that morning and you were fine, physically I mean. And then when you didn’t answer your phone, and Benny said you’d called in sick… I…” His voice gets all strangled, like it hurts him to even talk about this. “My mind just… Went there. I rushed home and I was sure I would… I would find you…”

“God, I’m so sorry baby.” Dean says, and for the first time he feels like he might cry too. “I’m so fucking sorry I did that to you.”

Cas takes a deep, shaky breath and reaches his hand up to Dean’s face. “I don’t want you to be sorry. Because it wasn’t your fault. I just want you to be okay.”

Dean feels like he’s been absolved. He’ll probably still blame himself, because he can’t help it, but knowing that Cas doesn’t… It feels like more than he deserves.

“I’m okay baby. I’m okay now.”

“Did you… Did you ever think about it?”

Dean sighs and thinks about it. Did he ever think about it? “I… Honestly, I don’t know. I thought about death all the time, but it was more like… Like death felt so much closer, because I couldn’t picture anything good in my future you know. It made everything feel kind of pointless, like if I was just gonna feel like crap my whole life until I die, then why not just die sooner rather than later?”

He doesn’t think about the words as they come out of his mouth, and he doesn’t anticipate the effect they’ll have on Cas. He’s still trying to work it out, trying to understand it all, and it’s kind of a habit developed in therapy, to not filter himself. But maybe this time filtering himself would have been a good idea because _wow_. That got heavy.

Cas sobs, his face buried in his hands. And it’s the kind of sobbing you see at the scene of an accident. Not I’m crying because _oh how sad_ , but I’m crying because _fuck that was fucking horrifying and I don’t know how to recover from having watched that._

“Hey it’s okay.” Dean says, moving his hand on Cas’s back. “I’m here now, I don’t feel like that anymore. I’m good. We’re good.”

Cas takes a series of deep breaths to calm himself down, and then lifts his head to look at Dean. “I just… I hate the fact that you ever felt like that, or thought those thoughts. And that you wouldn’t tell me about it, or let me comfort you. This- These past few months they…” He sucks in a deep breath. “They’ve been the worst time of my life. It was like I was losing you, and there was nothing I could do. Every day,” He takes another breath and his lower lip trembles dangerously. “Every day I watched you slipping away. I can’t… I can even put words to how that felt. And now you’re here, and you’re you, and I- I understand that you want to have sex. I want to have sex. But if you decide to stop taking the antidepressants and you fall back into that black hole I- I don’t know how I’ll deal with that. I’m barely keeping it together now. You’re just back on your feet, and just- I can’t handle another thing going wrong right now.” His voice rises and rises until it hits a note of complete panic.

“Hey calm down,” Dean tries, cupping Cas’s face in his hands. “Calm down. I’m not doing anything until we’ve talked about it okay?”

Cas nods and his breaths come a little easier.

“We talk about it, we decide together. But right now you just gotta calm down.”

Cas buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, and takes deep stuttering breaths.

“God,” He groans after a minute or so. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

Dean runs his fingers through his husband’s hair. “You’re not a mess. You’re just stressed, and tired.”

“God all these months I-” He glances up at Dean, and suddenly cuts himself off.

“What?” Dean prods gently.

Cas shakes his head. “It was nothing.”

Dean noses at his cheek, pressing kisses along the way. “Liar. Come on, you can tell me.”

Castiel sighs. “Fine. But you can’t use it to badger yourself. It’s not a criticism, I’m not mad about it, I know why it happened.”

This man knows him well. “I won’t. Say what you were about to say.”

“Just that I got so... Taking care of everything it was… It was hard. Dealing with the kids, dealing with…” He glances up at Dean again.

“Dealing with me.”

Cas nods. “After a while it was like… I just buried myself in the routine. In work and in the kids, because I couldn’t help you. And it was exhausting, but I needed something I could handle. Or I’d just be standing around, driving myself crazy because I felt so helpless.”

“Yeah well, you were very… efficient.”

“I’m sorry.” Cas whispers and his eyes are full of remorse. “I know I got cold, I know I closed myself off after a while, when I should have been there for you.”

“You were there for me. I shut you out, and that’s on me. So don’t go around feeling guilty about that. You tried, Cas. You were there, you were patient and you tried. An I was a dick to you. I can’t blame you for getting fed up with my crap, anyone would have.”

“It wasn’t that.” Cas says. “It wasn’t that I got fed up.”

“Okay?”

There’s something in Cas’s eyes. Something that looks like deep, deep hurt.

“You wouldn’t let me touch you. You would ignore me if I talked to you. I can deal with you snapping at me, I can deal with you being an ass. But I- It’s really hard to stomach being rejected by the person you love, over and over and over. Even if I knew it wasn’t about me, it was like… After a while I just couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t handle you flinching away from me like I had the plague. When I’m upset all I want is for you to hold me. To talk to me, to make me laugh. But it was like you- _Like you couldn’t stand to be around me._ ”

Dean kisses him through the tears, wondering how the hell he’s gonna explain this. Partly because he really doesn’t want to. Because there’s a great big wall of shame to bypass. But he’s got to. He needs Cas to understand. They kiss and Dean whispers things. Things like _I’m sorry_ . And _I love you_.

“I wanted you.”

Cas doesn’t meet his eyes. In that moment he looks remarkably like the boy Dean met twenty-six years ago. The boy with the big blue eyes who took his breath away. “It didn’t seem like you did.”

Dean kisses him again. “Fuck Cas, I always want you. It was never that.. It was…” He’s talked about this with Missouri in therapy, unpacked it. So why is so hard to talk about now? Why does it feel like the words get lodged in his throat? He looks down at Cas and shit. He can’t let Cas think Dean acted the way he did because he didn’t want him. “I didn’t deserve it, that’s how it felt.”

Cas’s eyes flit up to his, questions written in them. “What do you mean?”

Dean sighs, and plants his head down on Cas’s chest, because he can’t look at him while he talks about this. “I kept thinking I was letting you down. You and the kids. And I knew you wanted to make me feel better, but if I let you comfort me it was like… Like I was saying it was okay. To be a fucking failure. And then the worse it got it became almost like… Like I was punishing myself. By not letting myself have the one thing I wanted. To motivate myself to get better or some dumb shit like that. Look I know… I know how messed up that sounds, it is messed up. I get that now. But it’s the truth. I wanted you. I want you.”

Castiel seems rendered speechless. Dean doesn’t lift his head to look at his face.

Gentle fingers starts carding through his hair. “I don’t… I’m so sorry Dean. I’m so sorry you went through that. That you felt that way about yourself. I wish you could see yourself the way I do. How far from a failure you are.”

His words ring with sincerity and Dean feels the full weight of how much he truly was punishing himself by keeping Cas at arm’s length. He doesn’t need to be able to see through Cas’s eyes to feel better about himself. He just needs to be around Cas, and let Cas remind him.

 

“Tell me something funny.” Cas says in a soft hoarse voice, lightly trailing his fingers across Dean’s cheek.

He’s just gotten through another bout of crying. He doesn’t really seem to be crying about anything in particular anymore, it’s more like he just needs to get it all out.

“Something funny?”

“Yes.” Cas says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Go on, _amuse_ me.”

“Okay…” Dean presses a soft kiss to his lips. “Let’s see… Oh I know; did I ever tell you about the biggest asshole I ever met?”

Cas gives him a thoroughly unimpressed look, but the corners of his lips are twitching. “Is this going where I think it’s going?”

Dean ignores him. “Okay, so this guy, real fucking snooty type, and the first time I met him he looked me straight in the eye and told me I was too _dumb_ to understand Dostoevsky.”

Cas pinches him in the shoulder. “This isn’t what I asked for, I said _funny,_ not revisionist history.”  

“Revisionist history?” Dean says, pressing a kiss right below his right eye. “I’m sorry, _which_ part of that was not true?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “ _I_ didn’t say that, it was Balthazar.”

Dean laughs, and kisses him square on the mouth. “You are a fucking liar _Castiel_. You absolutely said that.”

“No I didn’t. And I still fail to see which part of this is funny.”

They’ve disagreed on the details of their first meeting for as long as Dean can remember.

“Oh the funny part? You want to know the funny part?”

“Please.” Cas says with another eye roll.

“The funny part is I married that asshole.” Dean says, kissing him again. “He’s my asshole now.”

“I was not _that_ big of an asshole.” Cas argues.

“You were a lovable asshole.” Dean concedes.

At that, Dean’s forty-five year old husband sticks his tongue out. Dean laughs and sags against him. God he’s missed him.

 

They have to actually leave their cozy bubble after a few hours, because as much as Dean wants to just lie in bed, holding his husband all day, they are still parents. They decide to save the big scary depression talk at least until tomorrow, so Cas can get a chance to recover. Dean’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be handling anything right now. But even if they’re not getting down to clearing the air quite yet, they can still go downstairs, so their kids can see that the crisis from this morning is passed.

When they go down to the kitchen, Dean sees that their kids, their wonderful, _beautiful_ kids have not only eaten the pancakes he made for breakfast, but they’ve also cleared up the kitchen after, complete with washing the pan Dean used. God, sometimes they step up.

Since Cas’s meltdown meant that neither he nor Dean have eaten breakfast, they’re both feeling pretty hungry. And it’s about lunch time, so Dean figures he’ll start whipping something up. Cas plants himself down on the kitchen island behind him.

He decides to balance out the unhealthiness of their breakfast, by making something healthier for lunch. If it wasn’t for the kids, Dean’s pretty sure he never would have learned to cook healthier crap than a burger, but when you’ve held a tiny little life in your hands and felt the weight of the fact that you’re responsible for their wellbeing, you kinda start caring about whether they grow up to have clogged arteries.

“I’ve missed this,” comes Cas’s voice. “Watching you cook.”

There’s something tentative in his tone that Dean hates. But he gets it. He understands that he can’t just erase the last six months. But he can walk over there, kiss his husband and do his best to let Cas know that he’s wanted. And needed. So that’s what he does.

He calls the kids down for lunch, and when they walk into the kitchen and see both their parents there, it’s one of those moments where no words are needed. There’s a visible feeling of relief on both their faces, when they’re able to see that everyone’s here and everyone’s okay. After months of probably feeling like everything’s falling apart.

They enjoy a quiet lunch as a family, and Dean slips his hand into Cas’s under the table. Cas smiles minutely, and some of the tiredness seems to drain off his face. Their hands stay entwined all day.

It’s an uneventful day, but it’s still the best Dean’s had in a long time.

 

“I’ve missed you so much.” Cas says, and as always the love and devotion in his eyes is enough to punch the air out of Dean’s stomach. How could he ever doubt that this man was committed to him for life? How could he ever think Cas would walk out on him?

They’re in bed. It’s dark outside the window, but they’re cocooned in the soft glow from the lamp on the bedside table, and each other’s arms.

“I’ve missed you too.” Dean says, pressing kisses along his jawline. “Missed touching you. I just wish I could…”

At that, Cas surprises him by swatting him across the forehead lightly.

“Ow!” Dean says, despite the fact that it didn’t hurt at all.

Cas rolls his eyes. “I finally get to hold you, and I’m not about to lie here, listening to you moan about your temporary inability to achieve an erection.”

 _Cold_. “Hey that’s not what I was-”

“I just want to be close to you.”

Dean leans down to kiss him again. “You know what’s a great way of feeling close to someone though?” He asks, waggling his eyebrows. “Sex.”

“Yes, well seeing as that isn’t on the table right now, there’s no point in dwelling on it.”

“It could be though. I mean, I might not be able to… But I could take care of you.”

Cas shakes his head, and he looks almost disturbed at the idea. “That wouldn’t… That would be weird. If you’re not aroused then it would be like you were doing me a favor. And that’s… I don’t want that. Besides, I don’t need sex to feel close to you.”

Dean smiles and lets his thumb trail over Cas’s cheekbone. “Always such a damn romantic.”

Cas just hums softly in agreement, and hugs Dean tighter. He’s got a bit of an octopus vibe going on, and Dean couldn’t be happier about it.

“You know what?” Dean decides, gently extricate himself from the embrace. “You’re right.” He reaches down to the hem of his t-shirt and shirts pulling it off.

Cas looks at him, clearly puzzled. “Right about what?”

“There are plenty of ways to be close, besides sex.” Sex may have always been their go to way, pretty much from the day the met onwards, but now they’re just gonna have to improvise.

“Okay…” Cas says, looking on as Dean starts to tug off his pants. “And those ways involve taking your clothes off?”

“Yeah.” Dean replies, pulling his socks off, “Not just my clothes though. Come on baby, get _nekkid_.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but obliges.

“You know,” He says, when Dean climbs back into bed and slots their naked bodies together. “This is going to make it quite hard not to get turned on.”

Dean leans down to kiss him, soft and lingering, enjoying the familiar way their bodies slot together. This whole day has felt like coming home again, after being adrift for so long. It feels like being able to breathe again, finally “Don’t care if you do.”

They lie in silence, their legs intertwined and their faces only inches from each other. After all these months of horrible cold and distance from each other, just being able to look into Cas’s eyes feels incredible. Just that steady, intelligent blue gaze he fell in love with what seems like a whole lifetime ago now. It’s been hard, having to turn away so many times lately, because he just couldn’t feel worthy of the love shining through them. He’s still not sure if he does, but at least he’s done starving himself of it.

Dean falls asleep just past midnight with the feeling of Cas lightly tracing patterns on his cheek.

 

He wakes up to the feeling of hair tickling him in the face, familiar and perfect. He opens his eyes to see that thicket of dark brown hair, now with very faint added sprinkles of silver. He noses at his husband’s scalp, taking in the smell of his honey shampoo, which Dean knows he only bought because of the picture of the bee on the label. Friggin nerd.

He carefully extricates himself from the embrace, and Cas’s arms tighten around his midsection as he lets out a sleepy unintelligible mumble in protest.

“I’ll be right back,” Dean mumbles, pressing a kiss into his bedhead. “Just gotta take a piss.”

Cas relinquishes his death grip around Dean and mumbles something else, which to the untrained ear would sound like garbled nonsense, but Dean knows his husband well enough to be able to pick out the word _coffee_.

“You got it.” He promises, sliding out from between the sheets.

He fumbles around in his dresser blindly for his flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt before going downstairs to start the coffee maker and then using the downstairs bathroom. He fills two cups and then carefully balances them as he goes up the stairs. He uses his foot to nudge the door open and walks back in his bedroom to see Cas sitting up in bed, his glasses already on, clad in Dean’s t-shirt from last night which he must have picked up off the floor, and squinting down at a book in his lap. As soon as Dean’s cleared the doorway he looks up though, and his face lights up with a soft smile as he reaches out preemptively to accept the cup.

“Thank you.” He says, humming contentedly as he takes his first careful sip while Dean gets back in bed, placing his own cup on the bedside table to wait for it too cool like a normal person.

“You’re gonna burn your mouth.”

“It’ll be worth it.”

Dean rolls his eyes but can’t stop smiling as he looks at him. There’s still a strangeness in the air between them, the sense that they’re not as easy and effortless with each other as they used to be. Almost as if they’re scenting the air, trying to figure each other out again. It’s jarring, being with someone so long and not quite knowing how to approach something. Like they’ve been through a war, and everything looks different coming out the other side.

“What are you reading?” He asks, poking at the book in Cas’s lap. He keeps his finger on the right page while shutting it to reveal the cover of _The Fountainhead_.

“It’s on the syllabus, I figured I should brush up on it.”

“You hate Ayn Rand.”

Cas lets out a small hum in affirmation, still sipping his too hot coffee. “So does everyone who’s not a complete asshole.”

Dean laughs and Cas’s lips quirk upward as their eyes meet again. No one has ever looked at him and made him feel seen the way Cas does.

He lets his hand travel up to Cas’s face, running his thumb along his husband’s cheekbone. “Hi.”

Cas smiles softly, and his eyes look a little misty as a presses a kiss to the inside of Dean’s palm. “Hello.” His voice is just a soft murmur.

He puts his coffee aside, and tentatively aligns his body with Dean’s on the bed so they’re both lying down with their heads toward the wrong end of the bed. Dean pushes Cas’s glasses up into his wild mop, to reveal his eyes which are pretty red and swollen from yesterday’s emotional turmoil.

He runs his thumb over the puffiness. “How’re you feeling?”

Cas looks at him like he doesn’t ever want to stop. “Better.”

“Yeah?” Dean runs his finger’s through Cas’s hair, which is a complete birds nest.

“Yes. But you still have to snuggle me for a minimum of forty-five minutes before we can get up.”

Dean smiles. “I think I can live with that.”

They kiss softly and lazily, despite Dean’s morning breath and Cas’s coffee breath.

“You’re scratchy.” Cas complains, finger tracing Dean’s cheek and one day stubble.

“So are you.”

“No I’m not.” Cas says, which makes _no_ sense, because he totally is.

Dean rolls his eyes while smiling. “Whatever you say baby.” He lets his hands wander down Cas’s back until they come upon what is undeniably a bare ass. “Did you put on a shirt and no pants?”

“Yes.”

“Ok… Why?”

“I’m in bed, pants are superfluous.”

“Then why put on a shirt?”

“I was cold.”

“You’re so weird.” Dean murmurs, pressing a kiss to his husband’s cheek.

“You should really be used to that by now.”

Dean just hums softly, tracing fingers through his hair. “So… About the pills…”

The line of Cas’s body goes taut with tension. “Yes?”

“We gonna talk about that or what?”

Silence.

“Cas?”

Dean braces himself up on his elbow so he can look at his husband. His husband who’s running a hand down his face like he’s trying to keep calm.

“I just-” Cas edges closer and looks Dean intently in the eye. “Dean I need- I need…”

“You need what?” He runs a hand soothingly down Cas’s back.

“I need a moment. I need to be with you, and hold you, and feel that you’re back with me. I can’t… I need us to move forward, I need enough time to for us both to recover.”

Dean sighs. “So you’re saying you need me to stay on them?”  

“It’s your body, like you said. It’s your decision, ultimately. Telling you no was out of line.”

It’s very Cas. Very reasonable, but not factoring in the bigger picture. “Yeah, but it’s what you want.”

Cas’s eyes are pleading. Pleading for understanding. “I want… I _need_ to be able to breathe again. Right now, lying here with you it’s like I finally can after all these months of fucking misery. But I’m so exhausted Dean. Like one sudden move, and everything’s gonna fall apart again. And I can’t go through that again.”

Guilt churns in Dean’s stomach.

Cas continues, a placating hand grazing Dean’s cheek. “Just give me a few months or a few weeks, or even a few days, and we can talk about. Please?”

It’s a losing battle. Because Cas’s eyes are huge and blue, and he _needs_ this. He wouldn’t ask it if he didn’t. Dean’s gonna have to make sure they’re not causing any kind of permanent damage. He _cannot_ live with limp dick syndrome for the rest of his life.

“Okay.” He says, pulling Cas closer. “You need time, I can do that.”

The relief on Cas’s face is clear, and he places his hands on both sides of Dean’s face and places a soft kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, if it’s what you need it’s what you need. Let’s just move forward.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Cas smiles minutely and runs his hand over Dean’s cheek again, fingertips grazing the stubble. “Maybe you should grow a beard.”

 

Days pass, weeks, months, Dean grows a beard, and they move forward. And get to as close as normal as they can get after going through something like that. There’s no going back, but Dean’s not gonna let that bother him, not when he has his life back. Sure, maybe it’s in a slightly warped shape now, maybe its edges are scuffed, but it’s still his life. Even if Cas hesitates before touching him in a way he’s never done before, and a strange silence sometimes falls over the dinner table when the kids talk about something that happened while Dean was still under his cloud of depression. It’s funny, the world seemed like it was standing still all that time, but apparently it was still moving.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me he got in trouble for fighting?” Dean asks, leaning against the sink, watching Cas floss before bed. He can’t help the anger that seeps into his voice, despite the fact that he’s angry with himself, not Cas.

“Why would I? So you could blame yourself and it would be another hindrance to your recovery?”

Cas knows him too well. “Well, people tend to blame themselves for shit they’re responsible for Cas.”

Cas just looks at him with a shrewd expression and carries on flossing, saying nothing to contradict him.

“I just- It’s not fair that you had to deal with all that crap alone when I’m the one-”

“The one who what?” A dangerous edge has crept into Cas’s voice.

Dean know Cas won’t like how that sentence was gonna end. “Nothing.”

Cas sighs his patented _Dean Winchester is frustrating but I still love him_ sigh. He puts the floss down and walks closer, slinging his arms lightly over Dean’s shoulders.

“Dean, my love.” He says. “You need to _stop._ You may blame yourself, and I wish you wouldn’t, but don’t put that on us. _We_ don’t blame you. I don’t blame you, Noah doesn’t blame you, Haley doesn’t blame you, the cat doesn’t blame you.”

Dean can’t help but smile at the last part. “You sure about Bowie? Cause he’s been giving me the stink eye lately.”

Cas rolls his eyes, and smiles. “That’s just his face Dean.” He captures Dean’s chin in his right hand and lets his thumb wander further up his jaw, “And don’t think I can’t tell when you’re trying to pick a fight with me.”

Dean sighs. He’s right. “Sorry.”

Cas just hums softly and kisses him.

And that’s another thing, the _kissing._ Just the sheer amount of kissing they’ve been doing lately is frankly obnoxious. Dean’s pretty sure they haven’t kissed this much since they first got together. Or maybe after they got engaged. Family time has been a big priority lately of course, but anytime that isn’t family time is usually spent necking like a couple of teenagers. And sure, kissing isn’t a substitute for sex, but it’s what they’ve got to work with right now, and they’re making the most of it. Well, that and cuddling, they’ve been doing a disgusting amount of that too.

They break apart and Cas leans his head on Dean’s shoulder, and lets his hands wander up Dean’s neck, tangling his fingers in Dean’s hair. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

Dean’s a little taken aback by the hesitation in his voice, and he tightens his hold around Cas’s midriff. “Okay..?”

“It’s… All that stuff we got from your father’s house, the old clothes, the photo albums, it’s still taking up space in the garage and-”

Dean tenses despite himself. “Thought we threw all that crap away.”

“No, we were going to, but we never got around to it. And when you were… I didn’t want to bring it up, and I would have done it myself but I couldn’t bring myself to without having you at least look through it first.”

“I don’t need to look through it. We can just get rid of it.” It’s just a bunch of bad memories anyway.

Cas lets out a sigh and Dean can tell he wants to argue. “Fine. But we need to clear it out in any case. How about tomorrow afternoon?”

Dean hugs him closer. “Sounds good.”

 

The garage is… Cluttered to say the least. There are old toys, vases, boxes stacked full of the kids old clothes, ranging from baby to early teens.

“Jeez.” Dean says, lifting a dusty blue onesie from the pile. It’s one of Haley’s old ones, it’s got a cartoon sparrow on the front. “You’d think we were a pair of hoarders.”

Cas snorts as he navigates the clutter, reaching behind a bin to fish out a packed suitcase. “A _pair_ of?” His voice is amused. “Dean, I’ve been trying to give some of this stuff away for years, and every time I’ve brought it up you look like I ran over your puppy.”

“Not true.” Dean mutters, still staring down at the onesie. God it’s a tiny little thing. He’d never believe she’d actually been that small if he hadn’t seen it himself. Hadn’t held her tiny little hand in his. Hadn’t been there for every part of it.

“Dean? I understand some of these things make you feel nostalgic, but we should really get on with this.”

Dean snaps out of it and puts the onesie back in the box. “Right yeah.” He tries to covertly wipe his eyes but he knows there’s no chance in hell Cas is fooled. He walks over to where Cas is unzipping the suitcase. “Why are you opening it? Let’s just load it in the car.”

Cas just lifts the flap up to reveal the contents. “We have to at least sort through to see what we’re going to donate and what to just throw away.”

The suitcase is jam packed full of stuff, and at the very top is his dad’s old leather jacket, folded neatly. A sense of heaviness comes over him then, swooping down with a frightful intensity. God he was dumb to think this would be easy. The jacket, so simple and inoffensive somehow makes it feel like his father’s ghost is suddenly in the cluttered garage with them. He reaches forward and runs his fingers over the worn leather, feeling like all the air has been punched out of his body. Part of him wants to burn it, as if that would somehow remove the ghost of John. And part of him wants to keep it, to wear it in honor of him.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice is soft as a whisper, laden with concern.

“Yeah. I-... Let’s donate it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Alright.”

They divvy up everything, carrying things back and forth between the garage and the open trunk of the Impala. The suitcase was just the tip of the iceberg, there are three more bags packed full of John Winchester’s things. The only reason they brought all this crap here was because they were in a big rush to sell the house after the funeral, and since Sam handled pretty much all of the legal proceedings, clearing the place out was the least they could do, with help from Ellen and Bobby of course.

“Okay, I think that was the last-” He swivels around to see Cas standing in their driveway, holding the only photo album John Winchester owned in his hands. It’s open. “What are you doing?”

Cas’s eyes snap up to meet Dean’s, and then back to the album. He traces his fingers across whatever he’s looking at. “Sorry, I got distracted.” He smiles a tiny, adoring smile. “But God, look at you.”

Dean doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to look, he doesn’t need those memories on top of everything else today. He goes over to take the album and put it in the trunk. As he approaches he sees the exact picture Cas is looking at. It’s him, in his room, at five years old. There are building blocks strewn around him on the carpet and he’s smiling widely at the camera. Happily.

“Did your father take this?” Cas asks softly.

Dean shuts the album and takes it out of his hands. “No.” He basically chucks it into the trunk. “I gotta go take a leak, then we can go.”

“Dean-”

Dean ignores him and heads inside the house. His chest feels like it’s about to cave in, it hurts so bad. He doesn’t actually need to go to the bathroom, he just needs a second to get it together. He goes into the kitchen to pour a glass of water, and as he’s lifting it to his face he hears the footsteps in the hallway. Noah’s studying at a friend’s house, and Haley is at karate class, so there’s no doubt who it is. He braces himself.

He hears Cas come into the room, but he doesn’t turn to face him. “ _Don’t._ ”

“They’re your memories Dean, you can’t just throw them away like they mean nothing.”

Trust Cas to cut right to the chase.

“Yes I can.”  

“Dean.” He sounds annoyingly reasonable. “Please look at me.”

Dean turns around reluctantly.

“Getting rid of them won’t change what you went through.” Cas says softly.

“You don’t know what I went through!” Dean snaps, because nothing riles him up more than when Cas pushes.

“Trust me Dean, I’m _well_ aware of that, because no matter what I do, you won’t talk to me about it! twenty-six fucking years, and you still refuse to tell me about it!”

Dean flinches, and the anger seeps out of him. He stares Cas down, feeling treacherous tears start to prickle in his eyes. “I can’t, I- You wouldn’t get it.”

Cas’s expression morphs from anger to something more tender in mere seconds. “Maybe not.” He says, walking closer to Dean, pacing his steps carefully. “But I can try.”

Dean looks at him, and knows he’s right. There’s no danger here, no reason to hold it all inside anymore. Yet when he opens his mouth, the only thing that comes out is; “Look, can we just talk about this later?” Which they both know very well is code for _we’re never gonna talk about this ever._

Cas stops in his tracks and his expression freezes and then morphs. It’s not even angry, it’s just bitter and disappointed. He drags his hands across his face and lets out a pitiful, humorless laugh. “God, some things _never_ fucking change do they?”

Dean can’t say anything to contradict that. He’s always been afraid that somewhere down the line Cas would stop looking at him like he hung the moon, and see him as he really is. He’s tried to prevent it, tried to be perfect, but you can’t outrun who you are.

He remembers that day, so many years ago now, when Cas traced his fingers down Dean’s face and called him the greatest man he’d ever met. How sure he sounded. Dean always knew it wasn’t true, but selfishly, he couldn’t help but go along with it. Then maybe one day, he could be the guy Cas saw him as. But that bitter, twisted look on Cas’s face just reaffirms what he already knew. That guy doesn’t exist.

“Yeah, maybe not.” The feeling of defeat creeps into his voice.

For some reason, that makes Cas even more pissed. And when he gets mad, he gets MAD. He stares at Dean for just a few seconds, his eyes blazing with anger. Then he lets out another of those horrible joyless laughs, and waves his hands dismissively. “You know what Dean?! It’s _fine_! It’s my own fault, I should know better than to fucking try with you at this point. It’s just a fucking waste of time!”

He storms out of the room then, going up the stairs in a cloud of anger and curse words. Dean leans over the kitchen island, letting his face fall down into his hands so he doesn’t have to watch him go, but he’s pretty sure he can make out the words _emotionally stunted jackass_ and _stubborn fucking asshole._

Dean keeps his head down and tries to focus on his breathing. Cas’s anger and disappointment is like Dean’s kryptonite. It makes him want to cry and beg forgiveness. He’s pretty sure Cas wouldn’t be very susceptible to the begging for forgiveness right now, so he settles for crying. A lot. Shit this day can go fuck itself. This day can go straight to hell. How did everything go south so fast? They woke up this morning and everything was fine, and now it’s all blown up in their faces.

He’s not sure how long he just stands there, silently crying onto the countertop, replaying moments of their relationship in his head, unable to get Cas’s words out of his head. A waste. He wonders if maybe that’s at least in part what Cas sees when he thinks back. To their first meeting, those first weeks they spent wrapped up in each other, mostly naked and laughing. Every moment, a whole life with someone too fucked up, too fundamentally broken to give every piece of themself. Who wouldn’t think it was a waste? Who would be fine with constantly getting back less than they gave?

It must have been at least half an hour when Dean hears footsteps on the stairs again. He can tell by the calm deliberate pace that Cas has had time to cool down. He’s not angry anymore. But he can still be disappointed.

Dean doesn’t lift his head up. Doesn’t want to look at him right now.

The footsteps come closer and closer until there are arms gently placed over his shoulders, and soft dry lips pressing against his cheek.

“I’m sorry.” Cas murmurs softly.

Dean wipes a tear from his cheek uselessly. “Don’t. You got nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do.” Cas insists, running his thumb along Dean’s cheekbone. “I shouldn’t have snapped like that. It just drives me crazy when you won’t let me in. It makes me want to kick and scream. And strangle you.” He’s got his head planted on Dean’s left shoulder, chin digging in and moving as he speaks.

Dean can’t help but let out a small chuckle at that, even as a fresh stream of tears make their way down his cheeks. He wipes them away. “I don’t want to keep doing this you know. I’m trying so fucking hard not to but...”  

Cas runs a hand through Dean’s hair. “Doing what?”

“Letting you down.”

Cas sighs softly, sounding displeased and then leans his forehead against the side of Dean’s face. “You have _never_ let me down. Not once.”

There isn’t a hint of exaggeration in his voice, no doubt or wavering. There never is.

Dean takes hold of Cas’s left hand, bringing it down against the countertop to trace the line of the tattoo on his slender ring finger that serves as a wedding ring. “You just said you wanted to strangle me.”

Cas hums softly, hand trailing over Dean’s scalp again. “Yes. You’re infuriating. Because you push me away, you keep things down and you never feel like you’re good enough. You say you’re okay when you’re not, you won’t talk about your feelings, at least not with me. You make me feel like I’m failing. Failing as a husband, and a partner, because after all this time, there are still things you won’t share. Won’t trust me with.”

That hits Dean right in the chest with a pang, and all he can do is try to breathe through the sobs that start wracking through his body.

Cas crowds even closer, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders firmly. “Hey,” His breath ghosts across Dean’s cheek as he speaks soothingly. “I love you. Infinitely. There’s nothing you could do that would change that, nor it is something you have to earn.” He presses his lips to Dean’s cheek as if to drive the message home.

Cas stays plastered to Dean’s side while he sobs silently, doing his best to soothe with his hands as well as his words. And when Dean’s tear ducts tap out, and he still has the warm reassuring weight of Cas pressed against his back, all he can think is how goddamn stupid he’s been, to deny himself this for so long. Because Cas makes everything better, he always has. The feeling of his thumb gently wiping Dean’s tears, the low rumble of his voice, they make everything better. Like the way his mom could before she died, just magically make everything feel ok again. Cas has the same magic.

Thinking about his mom makes one last stray tear travel a lonely path down his cheek. The warmth of Cas’s body in the soft glow of daylight in the quiet kitchen is comforting. The quiet is nice, instead of heavy as it has been lately. Cas keeps gently running a hand through Dean’s hair, and after a little while he starts humming softly. It’s a song Dean recognises.

“Baby, it’s bad enough you dragged me to that show, you gotta remind me of it when I’m at my most vulnerable?” His voice comes out all kinds of hoarse and thick.

Cas hums softly in reply, and presses a kiss above Dean’s ear. “I think you liked it.”  

“You think _wrong_.”

Gentle fingers trail down the back of his neck.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you crying at the masquerade reprise.”

Dean rubs his eyes. “I hate you.”

There’s a soft melodic laugh, and then Cas is gently maneuvering him to turn around, so they’re face to face. He takes Dean’s face in his hands with the utmost care, as if he were handling an ancient sacred relic. “I love you.”

His eyes are big and blue, and they hold endless promises of comfort and love. He’s everything. Dean doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t want to break the spell. They just stand there, looking at each other. Until Cas closes the distance between their faces, sealing their lips together in a slow languid kiss. Dean clings to him and just lets himself be kissed.

They decide to go outside and just lock the car, and postpone actually getting rid off the stuff until tomorrow. Then he lets Cas lead him upstairs for a shower, since they’re both kind of sweaty from carrying crap back and forth. He lets himself relax while Cas gently washes his hair, and then his beard. It’s really just a ploy to give him a big white foaming Dumbledore beard.

“Ho ho ho,” Cas says, standing back and looking at him.

Dean wraps his arms around his midsection. “You’re such a nerd.”

Afterwards, when they should be getting dressed and acting like responsible adults they instead fall onto their bed in a tangle of wet limbs and towels. Dean shifts around to accommodate the weight of Cas’s body on his, and then closes his eyes to the soothing feeling of Cas’s fingers carding through his hair. Cas starts humming again, but it’s not Andrew Lloyd Webber this time so Dean doesn’t complain. He just drifts.

“It’s not even six o clock my love, you can’t fall asleep.”

Dean opens his eyes, and yawns. “Sure I can. I’m old, old people take naps all the time.”

“Well you have to feed your family soon, so no napping for you.”

Dean lets out another big yawn. “You can make dinner.”

Cas snorts. “We both know that’s not true.”

Dean chuckles. “You made waffles that one time, they were good.”

“ _You_ made the batter Dean, I just poured them in the waffle maker.”

“Well you did a great job… pouring.”

“No I didn’t, I put way too much in and it went over the sides when I closed it.”

Okay, so Dean wasn’t banking on Cas having such clear recollection of the waffle incident which he’s pretty sure was at least six years ago. “Yeah you’re right, you suck.”

Cas hums softly in reply, running his hand down Dean’s side, the sound of his even breathing soothing and comforting. They should be getting up, getting dressed and going downstairs, but Dean isn’t willing to move just yet, and Cas isn’t forcing the matter.

Dean’s not sure how much time passes before they hear the tell tale sound of the front door being unlocked.

Cas sighs softly. “That’ll be Haley.”

Dean groans. He knows what that means. Time to get up. Immediately the weight on top of him disappears as Cas gets up, and he hears the sound of drawers being opened.

“Hey baby could you throw me some underwear? And a shirt? And pants?”

Cas lets out a soft chuckle. “Of course.”

There’s the sound of fabric russling and then Cas climbs back into bed, fully dressed now in a soft henley and a pair of track pants. He plants a similar outfit down onto Dean’s stomach.

“You better hurry up, I think we would both do well not to have to deal with a hungry teenage girl on top of everything else today.”

Dean can’t argue with that, as much as he loves his daughter, she’s kind of a monster when she hasn’t been fed. He pulls the shirt on over his head without really checking what Cas even gave him.

“You know,” He pulls the pants on ungracefully. “I swear I saw her unhinge her jaw out of the corner of my eye once.”

That gets a full, nose crinkley laugh. To the point that he gets breathless. Dean can’t help but smile as he drags himself off of the bed. Cas’s laugh is one of favorite sounds.

He’s headed for the door but Cas pulls him in for a kiss.

“Thought you said we had to hurry.” Dean mumbles, indulging himself by tangling his fingers in Cas’s hair, still wet from the shower.

“We do.” Cas replies in between kisses.

“Then why you tryna cop a feel?”

“I’m easily distracted.”

 

It’s easier in the dark, to force himself to say the words. Cas has just put his book aside and is cuddled up to Dean’s side in the peaceful dark of their bedroom. It’s nearing midnight.

“The photo album… When I look at those pictures I- All I see is this sweet, happy little kid and I- It fucking _hurts_ Cas. It hurts to remember what happened to him. All that bad shit that fucked him up so bad that he became a repressed fucking mess who can’t even talk to his own husband. I can’t get away from it Cas, it’s _everywhere_ , all the time. The pictures are just another reminder I don’t need.”

There’s a moment of silence. “Okay. We’ll throw it out. We’ll burn it if you’d like.”

“Thank you.” Dean gets out. His chest feels tight, and there’s anxiety bubbling up in his stomach.

“You don't need to thank me.”

The silence feels heavy, not in a bad way necessarily, just weighted.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I hold you?”

Dean takes a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah course you can.”

Cas slings an arm around Dean and uses the other to gently run along Dean’s cheek. Something about that gesture makes the tension in his chest burst and tears start flowing freely down his cheeks. Cas doesn’t say anything about it, but Dean knows he notices. He buries his face in Cas’s hair, allowing himself to be comforted by that familiar smell. Neither of them speak for a good half hour.

“And for the record.” Cas says, finally breaking the silence. “You are _not_ a repressed fucking mess. You are the best thing that ever happened to me, you’re an amazing husband, an amazing father, and I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

It’s funny that after all these years Cas still has the ability to make Dean blush. And he fucking loves doing it too, gets this mischievous glint in his eye and a smug smile stretches over his lips as the heat rises to Dean’s cheeks. Like it’s some kind of power rush. Fucking sicko. “C’mon, That’s… I’m not that fucking special.”

“Oh I beg to differ,” Cas says, capturing Dean’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re one in a million. Not to mention;” He pauses only to press a kiss to Dean’s lips. “You’re very, _very_ pretty.”

“Ha ha,” Dean says sarcastically, cheeks still burning as Cas kisses him again. “Fuck you.”

Cas chuckles and doesn’t relinquish his hold on Dean’s chin as he continues to kiss him softly.

Dean lets himself get swept up in soft lips, tongues, shared breaths and wandering hands.

“I love you.” Cas says, pulling back after several minutes of swapping spit. He uses his thumbs to swipe away some remaining tears on Dean’s cheeks.

“I know,” Dean says, stealing another kiss.

That just makes Cas roll his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he lays down and starts idly carding his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Dean leans into his touch, while also tilting his head to the side to get a better look at him. He lets his eyes wander over the steady rise and fall of his ribcage, over the tanned skin on his neck, the jut of his chin, the elegant bridge of his nose, the soft furrowed brow. He’s every bit as beautiful as he was the day they met. Maybe more.

Cas catches his gaze and winks cheekily, prompting Dean to let out a snort of laughter.  He traces his thumb along Cas’s collarbone, wondering if what he’s about to say will royally ruin this moment. “Hey Cas..?”

Cas raises his eyebrows in question. “Yes?”

“You know uh… That thing we’re not talking about?” Dean figures he better approach it gently.

Cas nods, his expression annoyingly hard to decipher.

“Think maybe we could uh… Stop not talking about it sometime soon? Like maybe next week?”

Cas, to Dean’s surprise, rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to speak in code my love. We can talk about it tomorrow if you’d like.”

Dean looks at him, thoroughly taken aback by his blasé attitude. “Really? That easy? You’re ready to um… Consider…” He cuts himself off in the face of Cas’s wry stare.

“I’m gonna let you in on a secret Dean,” He says, voice perfectly deadpan. “I haven’t had sex in nearly _eight_ months. I’m practically humping the furniture at this point.”

Dean laughs so hard at that mental image he has to fight to catch his breath. “God,” He says, wiping his eyes. “You have such a way with words professor.”

Cas smiles, an amused twinkle in his eyes. “So they tell me.”

They fall asleep tangled together in the middle of the bed.

 

He wakes up to the soft glow of morning and a hand lightly tracing his cheek. He edges closer, chasing the warmth emanating from his husband’s body. He buries his face in the crook of Cas’s neck, not quite ready to get up and face the day yet. Warm hands run up his back firmly, hugging him closer.

He lets himself be slothful, figuring that since the alarm hasn’t gone off yet they must be good on that front.

He kisses a line up Cas’s neck and is rewarded with a soft, contented sigh. “Morning.” His voice comes out thick with sleep.

Cas hums softly, trailing his fingers up Dean’s neck. He pulls back slightly and smiles, his blue eyes warm. “Good morning.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings - allusions to childhood abuse and neglect, erectile dysfunction due to antidepressants  
> If I've missed any please tell me in the comments.  
> I always wanted to write about the worst thing they ever went through as a couple, so that's what this was, I hope in the end it was life affirming and romantic as opposed to a bummer.  
> So if you've ever been treated for depression you'll know that the process of being put on medication is way more complex and intricate than described in this fic, but I really didn't want to get into that, so I threw realism out the window. This is probably riddled with errors too, I've proofread it a bunch of times, but it's fucking long, and I have other shit to do.  
> Hope you enjoyed, please share any thoughts with me in the comments and have a nice day!


End file.
